I was told the worst news in the world this morning:
My doctor told me that I needed to rest, in order to let my arm heal.
Let me explain:
For about a year, my right arm’s been weird, like my shoulder needs to pop back into place or something. When I’ve been lying in bed and reaching over to the right-hand side to get my phone, it’s been sore to lift my arm straight up, so I’ve had to sort of… reach back and then up to bring my arm forward, if that makes any sense.
In the summer last year, I managed to pull a muscle in my shoulder, making it even worse.
Since late November/early December, my arm has been… ooh. Agony? Basically since I finished The Zero Excuses Challenge, I haven’t been able to do any shoulder presses because my right arm has just been incapable of pushing up. I can do lat pulldowns, but only if I do that weird reach-back-wiggle-up thing to get my right arm above my head.
So, after three weeks of absolute agony while I’ve been asleep, I finally caved – realising that it wasn’t going to go away on its own, no matter how often my shoulder popped back into place – and Doctor David said that I’ve managed to inflame my muscle, the one that runs from the front of my chest and into my bicep.
No pushups in Spinning class. No shoulder press. No lifting heavy weights for the time being.
It’s like my body’s breaking down, piece by piece.
On Tuesday, I got the phonecall that the flat I’d been offered back at the end of October was finally ready for viewing.
On Wednesday, Mum, Dad and I went to see it.
Yesterday, I went and signed all of the paperwork, and:
The keys to my very own flat.
I’m gonna start moving my stuff in ASAP. I just need a cooker and a fridge/freezer before I can Move In, move in, because as I’ve said before: the last time I lived without either of those, I ballooned to 32 stones.
I have a flat of my own.
I am a responsible adult. Supposedly.